Cold sweat was running down Flynn’s neck as he rushed down the hallway leading to their room. He’d been running the whole way back from the pitch and could feel the burn in his lungs. Despite being relatively fit for a man his age, his growing panic was almost as exhausting as the physical strain, and so he found himself panting and gasping for air by the time he reached the door to their bedroom.

  When he pushed open the massive portal wings, he could see that his hands were as pale as chalk. If Oscar wasn’t here …

  He didn’t even want to entertain the thought.

  Darkness greeted him from inside the room, thick and unmoving. Apparently, Rain had closed the curtains again.

  But then, he noticed the subtle glow of flickering light in the far corner, paired with the murmur of low voices.

  “... it’s a family recipe,” someone said with the cheerfulness of a funeral song.

  “Thank you,” a dragon rumbled, their voice raspy.

  “Oscar!” Flynn exclaimed and rushed over. “We were so worried about you!”

  Oscar hastily retreated from the dim light of the candle and into the shadows.

  “You can’t just be running off like that!” Flynn added more quietly when he reached them.

  The dragon remained silent, his scales faintly shimmering in the darkness that had swallowed him. Flynn noticed with displeasure that Rain was standing right next to him. One half of the unicorn’s face was bathed in eerie light, the other half shrouded in blackness, hiding the tip of his droopy horn.

  “Hello, Flynn,” the horse said, with a voice that made Flynn want to peel off his fingernails.

  “Rain,” he retorted dryly.

  Only now did he notice that the unicorn was holding a mug in its hooves. Another, much bigger mug sat on a small table in front of Oscar, just at the edge of the darkness.

  “Do you also want a hot cocoa?” Rain asked.

  Flynn flinched. “A hot … cocoa?”

  The unicorn nodded.

  “I have to admit,” Flynn growled, “that’s not exactly the kind of drink I would’ve associated with you.”

  “Why not?” the unicorn asked, using his empty eyes to stare right into Flynn’s soul.

  “Could you not look at me like that, please?”

  Rain sighed pitifully. “Sorry.”

  They fell silent for a moment.

  “So that’s a no on the hot cocoa?”

  “What? Yes. No!”

  The unicorn nodded pensively. “I find that it helps with sadness.”

  “You would know, I suppose.”

  “I’m somewhat of an expert, yes.”

  Two dragon talons picked up the large mug and pulled it back into the darkness they’d emerged from. There was a loud slurping noise, followed by a faint hum.

  “Look, Oscar,” Flynn began, his words aimed at the void, “what happened with Clyde was an accident. It was not your fault. You just got excited. That can happen to anyone.”

  A moment of silence followed, before something stirred in the darkness.

  “Is Clyde okay?”

  Flynn sighed. “Yes, he is. Bjorn took him to the medical tract, but that was just a precaution. He might need a new haircut, but otherwise, he’s fine.”

  “That’s good,” the dragon grumbled.

  “No one is blaming you for anything,” Flynn added when Oscar fell quiet again. “Not even Clyde.”

  The last part was made up — or, at least, he didn’t know for sure if the manticore would hold a grudge. But he was almost certain this regrettable incident would be nothing more than an entertaining anecdote by tomorrow.

  “Clyde got lucky,” Oscar muttered.

  “I’m glad you can see the positives here, but I wouldn’t go that far,” Flynn quipped.

  “He got lucky, I didn’t set all of him on fire.”

  “Well … yes.”

  Flynn tried to come up with something clever to say, but failed. He knew the dragon wasn’t completely wrong. He’d seen him in Caon — things could’ve gone a lot worse. Although unlike then, Oscar hadn’t even been nervous in the slightest. On the contrary, he’d been positively buzzing with excitement. Maybe it was excessive emotions of any kind that could make the dragon lose control.

  Flynn gulped. He was no therapist, but anyone could see how much work Oscar still had ahead of him.

  His thoughts were interrupted when Rain took a prolonged slurping sip from his beverage. He side-eyed the unicorn over the rim of his mug and frowned when he saw the chocolate mustache on Rain’s snout.

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  “I just shouldn’t be around other people,” Oscar murmured, his talons quietly scratching against the stone floor.

  “Not to invalidate your feelings, but that’s a load of horse —” he caught himself in time and glanced over at Rain.

  The unicorn looked slightly offended. But then again, he always did.

  “What I’m trying to say,” Flynn started anew, “is that you can’t possibly think that. Ever.”

  “I only hurt people,” Oscar muttered. “Eventually, I will hurt you, too.”

  “The only thing that hurts me is seeing you like this.”

  “See? It’s already starting.”

  “What? No! That’s not—”

  Flynn ran his fingers across his face.

  “Look, you are never going to hurt me, okay? I’ll be fine. Always have been, always will be. Besides, that cyclops brute hurt me more than you ever have, and he didn’t even apologize.”

  Oscar briefly forgot his worries and puffed in amusement.

  “I think he just got carried away.”

  “Carried me away right with him,” Flynn growled, instinctively reaching for his jaw.

  A brief quiet brought back Oscar’s pensive demeanor.

  “I really thought I was making progress,” the dragon murmured, followed by another slurp.

  “You are making progress. But that doesn’t mean there won’t be minor setbacks.”

  Flynn’s eye tried to make out Oscar’s features in the darkness, but the light of the flickering candle wouldn’t reach him.

  “The mythical mind is a complicated thing,” Rain mused without warning, his words rolling like a poem.

  “Excuse me?” Flynn asked in bewilderment, but it became evident he was out of the loop.

  “You read it?” the dragon's surprised voice inquired.

  The unicorn nodded. “It’s been a great spiritual and psychological guide.”

  It took Flynn a moment to clue in.

  “Are you guys talking about this book again?”

  “The Mythical Mind, yes,” Oscar confirmed.

  Flynn would’ve pulled a face, but the topic switch seemed to do wonders to distract the large animal.

  “Especially the chapters about depression are a staple in the research community,” the dragon elaborated.

  “Are they now?”

  “They taught me that the dark pit that is my soul is nothing but a chasm that can be bridged,” the unicorn offered, his voice like chalk on a blackboard.

  “Right …”

  “Although so far, all bridges have collapsed.”

  The unicorn’s black eyes stared directly at the flickering candle.

  “I never knew you were familiar with the important research works about mental health,” Oscar said, inching ever so slightly back into the light.

  Rain pensively rotated the mug in his hooves.

  “When therapists struggle to treat your condition, you eventually take it upon yourself.”

  “I can see that working clearly,” Flynn muttered, glancing at the surrounding darkness.

  “You jest, but it’s true,” the unicorn said calmly.

  The dragon shifted at the edge of darkness. “Are you not part of a therapy group, then? I never asked.”

  The unicorn sighed. “I am. Or rather, I used to be. But it didn’t seem to work for me, and I only brought everyone else down.”

  Flynn bit his lip, fighting against the urge to comment.

  “Did they tell you, or was that your impression?” the dragon asked gently.

  Rain turned his head, and the droopy horn rolled over the back of his nose. “It was plain to see. Every time I shared my feelings, there was a grave silence afterward. I could see it in their faces that my words pained them.”

  “Maybe they were just commiserating.”

  “They rather looked like they were about to jump off the building.”

  Flynn snorted despite himself. “Sorry,” he quickly said, but Rain waved his hoof in dismissal.

  “It’s okay, you can make fun of me and laugh about my feelings.”

  Flynn suddenly felt incredibly rude.

  “I’m sorry, truly. Sometimes I just can’t help it. For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”

  Rain shook his head. “I mean it. It’s the first time in my life that someone is laughing because of me. It’s the first time someone is feeling positive because of my presence, or rather, despite my presence. I am not used to that, but I … like it.”

  Flynn hesitated. This was not the direction he’d expected this exchange to go in. Suddenly, he felt a surprising amount of sympathy for the depressed unicorn.

  Luckily, Oscar chimed in before the pause got too awkward.

  “I think that’s a great attitude,” he said and puffed. “It shows that you want people to be happy — now, we just gotta get you to feel positive, too.”

  The unicorn neighed quietly. “I don’t think it’s that simple. I’ve been the way I am as long as I can remember — the least unicorn-like unicorn you’ll ever come across.”

  “And you shouldn’t change who you are,” Oscar said caringly. “You shouldn’t even feel like you have to be positive all the time. But I think it would do you good if you could see the bright aspects of life every now and then. And even if you don’t, that doesn’t mean there aren’t other people out there who like you exactly the way you are.”

  The unicorn’s eyes took on a glossy shine.

  “That’s very kind of you to say. But so far, I’ve had little luck with that. Most other people and animals always tried to stay clear of me, whether that was in school, college, or … anytime really.”

  “Hold up — you went to college?” Flynn asked in disbelief.

  There were only a handful of colleges in Verantis, usually reserved for nobility and particularly gifted students. His parents had wanted him to enroll in one of these prestigious academies, but his lack of skills of any kind had forced him to learn his accounting trade the ordinary way — by mimicking equally unqualified mentors and pretending to know what he was doing.

  Rain let out a sad sigh. “I did, yes. My parents went to travel the kingdom the day I left for my program, riding rainbows from castle to castle. They were rejoicing, and who can blame them?”

  “What did you study?” Oscar asked in an attempt to ride the wave of positivity.

  “Expressive Arts.”

  Flynn lost control of his facial features and laughed long and hard.

  Rain watched him with interest as he tried to pull himself together.

  “I should’ve seen it coming, I guess,” Flynn admitted, flicking a tear off his cheek.

  They fell silent for a moment, Rain and Oscar taking sips from their hot cocoa. The candle had reached its halfway point and was quietly dancing next to the small gas stove Rain had used to prepare their drinks.

  “I’m sure there were moments in your life that made you happy,” Oscar mused and put down his massive mug.

  Rain considered the question for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Wait, really?” Flynn asked in disbelief.

  “My depression is rather persistent.” The unicorn gestured with his mug. “But the hot cocoa helps.”

  Flynn sighed. “Fine, give me some, too.”

  A hint of excitement flashed in Rain’s eyes as he turned on the gas stove.